Jonas
by Pyjamapants
Summary: Set after the main quest. A young boy with no idea what has happened over the previous months finds himself, impossibly, in the company of daedra. this is his quest to save tamriel and be reunited with his father.
1. Chapter 1

Jonas opened a bleary eye, wondering why his father could have awakened him at such a dark hour. "Cassynder?" he croaked, his throat dry. He had learned long ago not to call his father anything that might betray his lineage. Yet when Jonas' surroundings became visible to him, he realised he was no longer with the nice Altmer couple he called Mother and Father.

The blue-skinned man leered over the boy, his upper lip curled. "I say we kill the bastard!" he snarled. Jonas cringed; the man's voice was like scraping metal.

"No," his companion said sharply, his mottled skin stretched into an evil grin. The mottled man's pinkish eyes roved over the boy's face. "Not yet," he whispered. His voice was even more horrifying than the first man's.

Jonas tore his eyes away from the cold unblinking stare of the blue man and looked around to try and figure out where he was. He found himself strapped to a stretcher made from some tough leather unlike any he had seen before, and he saw that this stretcher was carried by a male bosmer and a female dunmer, both clad in red robes and hoods that partially obscured their faces. Seeming to notice where Jonas was looking, the mottled man grabbed the bosmer's face and turned it upward so that he was looking directly into the wood elf's eyes.

"Dawn is breaking!" The man sneered and spat onto the bosmer's face before releasing him. The mottled man turned with a smile and looked at Jonas again.

_Talos save me!_ Jonas thought. _Who are these fiends?_ The blue-skinned man snarled abruptly and turned to his companion. "I tire of waiting, and I thirst for the satisfaction of this one's blood," he growled, pointing a talon at Jonas. Jonas felt his blood run cold. 

"Patience, patience, my friend," the mottled man said softly. "We wait until dawn."

"You do not deserve the rank of Markynaz!" the blue man snarled. "I have waited for this long enough! You are not my master, you are not my equal, and you are not my friend! Don't think that you can tell me what to do!" He took a step toward Jonas, a blade glowing in his hand.

Jonas did not see the mottled man move, but he was suddenly aware of a bloodied knife embedded into the ground a few feet away from the blue man, and a thin line across the man's neck.

"Tsk, tsk," the Markynaz tutted as blood began to seep from the wound in his comrade's neck. "It is a pity you feel that way, considering that you are only a Xivilai," he did not bat an eyelid as the Xivilai fell to his knees, gagging on his own inhaled blood. "Ah well," the Markynaz sighed, mock disappointedly. He gave Jonas a cruel smile as he said; "I suppose it just means more meat for me."

Jonas heard a sudden cry from nearby, and the Markynaz looked suddenly afraid. "Daedra!" a voice called from somewhere even closer. "We cannot wait for dawn as I had hoped," the Markynaz said to the two slaves. "Protect me." The two slaves threw their hands up into the air and to Jonas' amazement, armor appeared on their bodies; weapons in their hands.

"You should be grateful," the Markynaz whispered to Jonas as he drew a blade made of some metal the boy did not recognise. "Under other circumstances your death would be long and…excruciating. Fear not. It shall be quick." Pain darted across Jonas' chest, but only for a moment; the daedra, if that was what it was called, had been flung backwards, and his blade had only broken the skin just beneath Jonas' tunic.

The battlemage looked pleased with himself as the daedra flew backwards, but it smiled arrogantly as it raised the blade above its head and flicked a drop of blood into its mouth.

The change was instantaneous: the thing rippled with magical energy. It laughed and cast its palm toward the cluster of soldiers, sending bolts of lightning at the unprepared group. Jonas did not see what happened next, however, for the dunmer woman that had carried him earlier had appeared at his side, a silver dagger clutched in her hand.

"Help!" Jonas tried to scream to one of the soldiers, but a gloved hand slid across his mouth. To Jonas' surprise, the woman swiftly began to cut the ropes that bound his hands and feet.

"Run!" the dunmer whispered urgently, "run far from here; you are our only hope. Martin may have closed shut the jaws of Oblivion, but the threat still lurks beneath the surface. Find Jauffre. Don't let yourself be seen by the daedroth or any other daedra, and for Azura's sake, do not tell anyone but him your true identity. Find Jauffre. Only you can save us."

Before Jonas could protest that he was only a twelve-year-old boy, and that he had no idea who Jauffre or Martin were or even what Oblivion was, her grip loosened as an arrow shot through her forehead, the look of pained worry never to leave her features.

Jonas jumped up, turned and ran into the forest, jumping over the dead Xivilai and praying that no one had seen him leave, least of all the daedra, or daedroth, or whatever it was supposed to be called.

Jonas' head was bursting with questions, but he ignored them as he ran. Soon he became tired and found that he could no longer run, and that the landscape was blurring in front of his tired eyes. He stumbled over a gnarled root and felt his face connect with the damp, sweet-smelling earth.

_Where is my father? _He thought sadly._ Why did these daedra take me from my other parents – I should say, the Camorans? Who is Jauffre, and where is he for that matter?_ It was only now that Jonas realised his vision was blurred with tears; he had no idea where he was, and the chances of his ever seeing his father again were remote. "I didn't even tell him I loved him," Jonas whispered to himself. He abruptly stood and shook his head. "No!" he told himself sternly. "Don't think like that! You will see your father again – after all, you are Jonas Septim, son of Cassynder Septim. There is nothing you can't do!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi! sorry I didn't post this yesterday like I meant to - we've been redecorating and I had to unplug all the wires etc. Anywho, thanks for my one and only review so far MorganEddasil. Also, I probably should have mentioned earlier that this does occur after the main quest, so if you haven't finished it yet you risk ruining the ending for yourself here. Ok, onward!**

It was the pain in his chest that woke Jonas now – the wound from the daedric blade simply refused to scab over and heal. _Oh well,_ he thought, _I'd better keep moving…_ Jonas began to make his way through the thick forest, not quite sure whether he was going the right way or not. He started suddenly as he caught sight of his reflection in a puddle. His once noble Altmer face was smeared with mud, scratches marred his smooth skin, and his dirty blond hair that his father insisted would eventually darken was now actually dirty, but his dangerous red eyes remained unchanged.

Jonas had been told he'd inherited his mother's eyes, but he could not be sure, having never met the woman himself. She was one of his father's concubines (whatever that meant) and so he had never had any reason to meet her, but he still felt he should have, all the same…

Jonas shook himself out of his reverie and pressed on. It was only a short while before he came to an old building, whose rotting sign told him it was named Wawnet Inn. It seemed a promising place at first, but then it occurred to Jonas that he had not a single Septim on his person. His father being the Emperor, he would usually have a substantial amount of money on his person, but he had not expected to need any money while asleep in bed, hence he didn't have it.

Indecisiveness gripped Jonas and he stopped in his tracks, trying to decide whether to go into the Inn or head across the nearby bridge into the Imperial city, but the death of the Xivilai preyed on his mind, clouding his thoughts.

It wasn't so much the fact that it had died; rather that Jonas had witnessed its passing at the hands of the sadistic dremora lord, and that the sight of another person choking on their own inhaled blood made Jonas gag. Of course, it was not the first time he had ever witnessed death, but Jonas liked to keep that memory locked away in the deepest darkest recess of his mind.

Jonas looked up and realised that he had already started along the bridge without realising it. _I hope this is a good decision,_ he thought to himself, preparing to place the blame of going the wrong way on his inattentiveness.

"Are you alright?" a soldier stationed outside the city gates inquired as Jonas approached. "You look a little flushed, son."

"I'm fine," Jonas muttered, but in his mind's eye he saw the Xivilai's gaping mouth as it struggled to take in air. He swayed a little, feeling vaguely sick, but he waved away the guard's worried expression with a casual gesture, as if this happened all the time.

"I can't believe it," Jonas heard a pair of guards talking in hushed tones as he entered the city. "I mean…that dragon…do you think it really was the Avatar of Akatosh?"

"Ugh…" Jonas moaned. He really was going to be sick now. A haze not dissimilar to someone under a chameleon spell passed over his vision for a moment as he hurtled down an alleyway to find a suitable spot to vomit.

He drenched the back of a house in pale vomit before collapsing into a sitting position on the floor. He actually felt much better now, and he wondered whether the daedra had given him some tainted food or potion while he was unconscious.

Something silvery sparkled near Jonas' foot, so he reached out and picked it up. It was a knife, and the end was bloodied. As an unpleasant feeling of dread washed over him like an icy shower, he turned from the wall he had thrown up on.

The dead Altmer was wearing robes of a lighter shade of red than the two slaves that carried his stretcher earlier, and he had on his person a twisted staff made of wood. "Oh no…" Jonas thought, not feeling ill, but filled with a desire to run and hide and never come out.

"You there!" someone said from behind him. "Don't move! You're under arrest for murder, since you obviously can't afford to pay the fees," the guard said with distaste clear in his voice.

"It wasn't me!" Jonas squeaked, his voice unnaturally high.

"Well," the guard reached out and nestled his hand in Jonas' hair. "I might be inclined to _forget _that I found you standing over the murder victim, holding the murder weapon, if…" he stroked Jonas' hair softly.

It took Jonas about half a second to realise what the guard wanted. "Get off me!" he shrieked, pushing the guard away with as much strength as he could muster. He felt the crackle of untamed magicka at the tips of his fingers.

"What's going on?" a second voice called. The concerned face of a second imperial guard appeared at the end of the alley. The first guard jerked Jonas roughly to his feet and looked up toward the second guard.

"Ignatius! I, er, apprehended this here urchin for the murder of our Chancellor, Ocato." Jonas gulped, _Chancellor? This is _not_ good…_

Ignatius' eyes slid from the body on the floor to the young boy standing over him. His eyes rested on the flushed face of the first guard and the bead of sweat on the guard's forehead for a moment before giving Jonas an understanding look.

"Look, Joel," Ignatius said to the other guard. "He's just a kid; I don't think he could overpower such a powerful-…"

Joel was having none of it. "I _know _it was him – he's got the murder weapon, for Talos' sake!" Ignatius looked unconvinced. "Besides," Joel added, "if it's not murder today, it'll be thieving from _real_ citizens tomorrow." When Ignatius did not waver in his sceptical glare, Joel let go of Jonas' head and moved forward to whisper something to the guard. Jonas saw a few coins exchange hands, and Ignatius nodded reluctantly.

"Very well."

Joel grinned triumphantly down at Jonas, his hungry expression doing nothing to improve his features. "Come on you little wretch," he muttered, shoving him down the passage and away from the dead body behind them.

_He_ will _be sorry when my father gets a hold of him,_ Jonas thought to himself, but he couldn't help wondering where his father had been when the daedra had taken him. A sharp smack on the back of his head brought Jonas back to the present.

"Keep moving."

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Jonas was roused from his uneasy slumber by the singsong voice of the dunmer in the cell opposite his. "What a waste," he said softly. "I wouldn't be surprised if they threw away your key, considering what _you_ have done…"

"What?" Jonas muttered uneasily.

"_Murdering_ the _Chancellor!_" the dunmer laughed quietly. "There are easier methods of suicide, you know – but being a 'High' elf, you would probably think them beneath you. Where's your dignity now, _high_ elf?" Jonas shook his head and turned away.

"You know I was only joking about them throwing away the key…I've seen the way that guard Joel looks at you!" he laughed cruelly.

There was a faint noise like cymbals behind him, but Jonas did not turn around until he heard the dunmer mutter, "Hey, it's you! The one that escaped the day the emperor died! You lucky bastard!" Chills went down Jonas' spine as he heard that the emperor was dead. "Well, come on then, let your old buddy Valen Dreth out of prison then."

"You are going to die in here…" the shrouded figure before Dreth's cell said with a chuckle.

"What? Let me out you bastard! Why if I ever get my hands on you-…" he was cut short as the shrouded figure blasted him across the cell with a shock spell. The assassin turned to leave.

"Wait!" Jonas shouted. The shrouded figure turned to him, as if noticing him for the first time. "The…the emperor's dead?"

"You been living under a rock for the past three months?" the figure asked, faintly amused. "Yes, Uriel's dead." He turned to leave.

"No, that's not right!" Jonas said, instantly regretting opening his mouth. The assassin turned and gave him what appeared to be a penetrating glare, though Jonas couldn't really tell, as a hood obscured the man's face.

"I was there," the man said.

"No, I…I mean Uriel was the Emperor's brother…" Jonas imagined that the man had raised an eyebrow. "...And the emperor was…Cassynder…Septim…" his voice trailed off into nothing.

"Son, those guards must have knocked you silly. There hasn't been an Emperor Cassynder for years." Jonas' jaw dropped and the assassin turned to leave.

"Wait, can't you…" the locks clicked and the door opened. "Thanks!" Jonas called, but the assassin didn't turn around. With the familiar cymbal-clashing sound he shimmered out of sight, and Jonas was on his own._ Right…now, how to escape?_


	3. Chapter 3

Jonas cast his eyes fervently around, searching for something that might aid in his escape. His mind was still reeling from the revelation that there had not been an Emperor by the name of Cassynder for a very long while, and he had fought the thoughts of the murdered chancellor, dunmer and xivilai back into a dark corner of his mind where he could forget about them.

Soon, Jonas found what he was looking for. In a cell adjacent to his, he had found the skeleton of a previous occupant. The bone was sturdy, but Jonas knew that it would not withstand too much strenuous use as a weapon. He did feel, however, that given the element of surprise he could knock out a guard or two and thus escape. Where to he did not know.

Jonas crept up the stairs as quietly as he could, wielding the bone like a club. The gaoler was sat at a desk across from the door. He was sat in such a position that he could see each of the three exits clearly. At the moment, however, he was reading a note, his brow furrowed in concern.

Jonas slowly bent down and picked up a small stone from the floor. He lobbed it at the open door across the vestibule. The gaoler looked up suddenly, his eyes narrowed. "Who's there?" Slowly unsheathing his sword, the fat balding man edged toward the door opposite from Jonas.

Jonas crept up behind the man, careful not to let the door creak as he passed through. Then, as Jonas' bare foot scuffed the ground, the gaoler turned his head, and felt his face connect with the bone Jonas carried. The man's skin split and blood ran into his eyes, intermingled with sweat from his furrowed brow. It was perhaps a piece of luck on Jonas' part, because (as he realised much later) had the gaoler not been blinded by that initial impact, he could have easily turned and cut the boy down.

"When I get a hold of you, you bastard, I'll-…" Spurred on by some surge of adrenaline or maybe a temporary madness, Jonas swung the bone again, this time connecting with the man's mouth. He swung again, and again, and again, until he realised that the gaoler was already unconscious. _Or dead…_ a voice I the back of his mind whispered.

Jonas frantically searched through the man's belongings, finding two keys, a few Septims and a love note, scrawled by someone called Raven. Jonas took the keys and the Septims, leaving the man's note. He also took the man's sword, fancying it would better serve him than the bone he held.

Once the sword was fastened securely to his belt, Jonas stood, and indecision gripped him once again. What now? Jonas had been pinning all his hopes to the certain eventuality of his being reunited with his father; the Emperor could surely save him from being subjected to the punishment he would likely receive for these deaths. Right now, it didn't seem likely.

Then another thought struck Jonas like a sledgehammer. _Who is the Emperor?_ Of course, the assassin had told him that Emperor Uriel was dead, and he had naturally assumed him to be his uncle Uriel. But why had no new heir been crowned? Jonas was brought abruptly back to reality by a loud creaking noise from above. A fourth door he had not noticed was protruding from the ceiling, and an Imperial Soldier was beginning to make his way down the ladder connected to it.

_In the name of Akatosh, please don't let there be…_ Jonas launched himself out through the main doors, dreading meeting more guards here. There were none. Jonas gave his silent thanks to Akatosh, and made his way forward, in the general direction of the Arcane University. _That daedroth or whatever it was had magic in it,_ he reasoned, _so Jauffre is probably a mage. If he is a mage, I should be able o find him at the University._ Pleased with his deductions, Jonas pushed himself onward, wary of any guards who might recognise him as a prisoner.

Jonas was fortunate in that he didn't bump into any soldiers until he reached the entrance to the Arcane University. "Hello there son," the battlemage leaned down toward him. "Are you lost? I don't think this is a place for kids."

"N-no, I'm fine," Jonas stammered as the guard took in his distinctive appearance, taking particular note, Jonas thought, of his red eyes.

"Ok then," the man raised his eyebrows sceptically, "but you know you won't be allowed into the main area of the University – only the vestibule." Jonas nodded in response.

The vestibule of the Arcane University was lit with candles in the colours of victory, if Jonas remembered correctly. He wondered vaguely why this was considering that the emperor had died recently, and there was apparently no heir. An argonian woman looked up briefly from her book when Jonas entered, but she made no noise.

"Hello, young one," a man clad in a blue robe greeted him. "Can I help you with something?" He looked up and down at Jonas' shoddy prison wear and smiled ruefully.

"Yes," Jonas avoided locking eyes with this man. "I was wondering if, er, Jauffre was in?"

"Jauffre?" Jonas nodded eagerly. "I can't say I've ever heard of anyone called Jauffre." Jonas' face fell. "I'm sorry I can't be more helpful."

"Can you at least tell me who the emperor is then?"

"Well, that is the question, isn't it?" the man smiled mysteriously. He made to walk away.

In a last desperate attempt to solve the mystery he had found himself immersed in, Jonas called out, "dawn is breaking!" The man looked at him oddly, but did not display the same flicker of recognition that passed across the argonian's face. The book slipped from her hands as she stood abruptly.

"Raminus, if I may, I'd like to talk to our guest…" she smiled and beckoned Jonas over.

Jonas had always found argonians slightly creepy, what with their lizard like features and staring eyes, but he had never felt so uneasy at being with one than he did now. Of course, his grandmother having been both the empress and a dunmer, Jonas had tried to teach himself not to be racist, as his grandmother had suffered from just that, but he still found it terribly difficult.

"Hello, young one," the woman said, not dissimilarly to Raminus. "My name is Tar-Meena, what is yours?"

"Jonas S…" he bit his lip. "Jonas."

"What do you know, Jonas, of the Mythic dawn?" Tar-Meena's eyes sparkled.

"Er, nothing," he admitted. The argonian woman frowned slightly at this, but went on.

"About daedric cults?"

"No, I – wait…does that mean, like, daedra?"

"Yes," Tar-Meena smiled. "You have, I presume, run into a society that worship daedric princes?"

"I think they were called a Markynaz and a Xivilai," Jonas said, stumbling a little over the unfamiliar words.

"Oh," Tar-Meena said, slightly disappointed. "Then you are like many here: you saw the daedra pour through the oblivion gates in the city."

"N-no," Jonas said, wondering how much he should say. "It was last night, or the night before that I woke up in the forest with them, and…" he cut off the rest of his sentence as he realised he might be giving too much away.

"No, that's not possible," Tar-Meena frowned. "Martin closed all the oblivion gates, and all the daedra were killed weeks ago. It's impossible."

Jonas gave her an accurate description of the events that night, and he showed her the slightly-healed wound on his chest.

"But this makes no sense," Tar-Meena protested. "I have never heard of blood being used to generate power in such a way…you're sure they were daedra and not vampires?"

"Yes, I'm sure – it's what the guards said, anyway." Tar-Meena shut her eyes and went into a state of deep thought, not saying anything for a while.

"Ok," Tar-Meena said at last. "We need to get you to Cloud Ruler Temple, the headquarters of the Blades; there is definitely something special about you Jonas, and I think you would be safest there. Unfortunately, I don't know where Cloud Ruler Temple is, but one of their contacts is scheduled to come by soon. He can take you there." Jonas nodded. He was feeling quite depressed. "I'm sorry I can't help you find Jauffre. Maybe one of the Blades will know who he is." Jonas privately thought that that was a very remote possibility, but since he had no other options, he had no choice but to agree.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for all your kind reviews, and I'm really sorry about my updates taking so long, and my chapters being so short. Hopefully this one will meet your standards…**

Jonas was sitting on the floor of his house, bouncing a small ball made from the bladder of a goat. He was about six years old and his blonde hair was yet to darken at all – though his piercing red orbs drew the attention of anyone in the room long before his hair did. Incidentally, the only other person in the room at that moment was his 'mother.'

"Come now Jonas," she said, "stop playing around with that old thing, you know Mr Cassynder is coming."

_Mr Cassynder…_Jonas whispered the words to himself like a secret spell you told yourself when things looked bad. He dropped the ball instantly, to the amusement of his mother.

A short rap on the door made Jonas jump up in anticipation, but it was not Mr Cassynder. "Hi dad," he said, looking at the floor.

The altmer that had just entered the smallish house had a face that looked like it had been set in stone in a permanent look of rage. His brows were furrowed and the corners of his mouth were turned down.

Then the mask broke and his eyes twinkled through the façade. Jonas jumped up into the man's arms, which caught him. "Wow, you're getting _big_!" he exclaimed, pretending to strain under the young boy's frankly negligible weight.

Jonas' dad enthralled him with great tales of orcs and dunmeri; telling tall tales, such as the one of the troll living under a bridge nearby; and captivating him with rumours of witch-folk that could turn into birds and beasts in the blink of an eye. Though he doubted himself that he really believed most of the things his father told him, Jonas gave the village people and the river-bridge a wide birth.

Then came Jonas' favourite story: The Tale of Umbra. "About a hundred years ago – when was that, Jonas?" Jonas' father interrupted himself.

"Er…" Jonas counted back from the present date. "About 3E 95?" Jonas guessed.

"Yes…now, about a hundred years ago, there was this magical sword named-…"

"_Umbra…"_ Jonas breathed.

"-…And when it was used against another person, it would capture their soul, preventing it from leaving to be with the nine divines. One day, an evil sorcerer came into possession of this great artefact. He used it for great evil all across Tamriel, using it to capture people's souls and use them in black magic, that is, until he came across a great hero named-…"

"Jonas!"

"Yes," his dad laughed. "It's where you got your name from boy, and don't you forget it. Now where was I? Ah yes, when the sorcerer came across Jonas, he struck him down and took his soul."

"_But that's not the end of the story,"_ Jonas recited.

"No, because soon the sorcerer heard Jonas' voice calling to him. The young hero made a wager with the villain – he bet that he could make the sorcerer want to die. If he won, the sorcerer would have to free him, but if the sorcerer won, Jonas' soul would be used in the secret ritual of eternal life. Jonas told the sorcerer lots of things that might make him want to die, but none of them worked, so Jonas had to agree to be used in the ritual."

"_But…"_

"But when the ritual was performed, because Jonas was pure of heart and had stuck to his wager with honour, and the sorcerer had acted with dishonour, the magic gave Jonas his body back, and destroyed the sorcerer's soul. Thus Umbra went into Jonas' rightful hands and was never again used for evil. The end."

Jonas liked the story mainly because it was where his name came from, though he felt it was a bit far-fetched and silly. He knew his father had probably just made it up to scare him into keeping his promises, but he still enjoyed the story every time.

After a multitude of stories, just when Jonas was beginning to tire of them and become restless, there was another knock at the door. By now the day had grown old, and it was mostly the fire in the grate that lit the place, giving it a faintly eerie quality.

Jonas jumped up and ran for the door, certain that it could be none other than his father – his real father. Not one that told silly bedside stories and folktales, but one to whom the entire nation looked for support and wisdom, one to whom Jonas gave all his love and respect. Well, almost all of it.

When he flung back the door, Jonas did not, however meet with that great and esteemed ruler of the land, but with his exact double. Jonas eyed his doppelganger for a moment before practically yelling, "Alex!"

Alex, Jonas' twin brother, did not, however, respond with the same adoring shout. Jonas' eyes focused on the hand clasped onto his brother's shoulder. He blinked. The woman to whom the hand was attached was wearing the most peculiar clothes, which seemed to blend perfectly with the countryside – so much so in fact, that he had not noticed her at all at first.

She was a very pretty young woman, with deep blue eyes and raven-black hair. Her skin was very pale, and Jonas suspected that she had used some sort of whitening agent, as there was no race in all of cyrodiil (that he knew of) that had such pale skin. Her lips were blood red, and reminded Jonas of those blackberries he and his brother would pick in the summer - those red clots of sweetness that magically transformed into pie when their mother put them into the oven.

"Camoran…" the woman's bloody lips parted to reveal a set of pointed teeth. Her talon-like fingers gripped Alex's shoulder.

"Jonas," the boys' father whispered, "get back. Now."

"Who is she, dad?" Jonas asked curiously.

"She's no one, now get behind me."

"But-"

"Now!"

The woman, who had been watching the display with a vaguely amused expression on her face, spoke again, her voice a metallic rasp. "Camoran…" she repeated. "You took away everything that I loved…" She wagged a finger at him mockingly.

"No, wait, please…" the look of anger on his face changed swiftly to fear.

"…And now…I shall return the favour!" With that she unsheathed a sword with a black blade.

"You don't know…they are the sons of-"

The woman swung the blade, gripping all the while to Alex's shoulder. Jonas was rooted to the spot. He knew what was about to happen. He could see in Alex's eyes that he knew too.

"ALEX!" Jonas screamed. Everything shimmered slightly purple, and Jonas woke up sweating, his heart beating so fast it hurt, and the image of his brother's horror-stricken eyes burned onto the inside of his eyelids.

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Being too young to join the mages' guild, and obviously not having received recommendations from the guildhalls, Jonas shouldn't really have been allowed into the Arcane University. However, as Tar-Meena had officially taken custody of him, and she had nowhere else for him to stay, the newly instated Archmage had seen fit to make Jonas an honorary member of the mages' guild.

Jonas still wasn't allowed into the praxographical centre, or any of the more restricted areas of the University, but he was allowed free reign in the Mystic Archives and the Mages' sleeping quarters. He suspected that the only real reason for his being allowed into the university was that he was considered a magical oddity (Tar-Meena had kept his experiences secret for the most part, but hinted at latent magical powers), and most of the guild's members wanted to observe him.

Jonas didn't particularly care what they thought of him; his only care was of finding Jauffre and making his way home to his father. Jonas therefore spent most of his time in the Mystic Archives, trying to figure out what had happened and how he could reverse it.

Jonas opened a book at random. He read the title, and did a double take. _A Short Life of Uriel Septim VII, _he read. _Ok,_ he thought, _this is definitely _not_ my uncle._ The next line seemed to confirm this: _3E 368-389._ It seemed from this book that Jonas had travelled more than a hundred years into the future.

Jonas stopped to think about it for a second. It didn't seem _that_ far-fetched, considering that he'd been kidnapped from a heavily guarded facility by a pair of beings that apparently couldn't possibly exist.

Jonas snapped the book shut again. He had a headache. The nightmare he'd had was preying on Jonas' mind, more because he'd almost completely forgotten that night than anything else.

He saw once again the look of despair and forlornness in his brother's eyes as the young boy had realised that no one was going to save him. "SHIT!" Jonas cursed, hurling the ex-emperor's biography away with all his strength.

Jonas realised he was crying. After a while, when the morning had turned to afternoon, and the afternoon to evening, Jonas looked to see the damage he'd caused in his rage. A display case had fallen over, its stand having been snapped by the flung book. The glass on the top of the case was shattered and glittered like fairy-dust on the carpet.

Jonas looked at the cover of the book in the display case for a moment before lifting it gingerly out of the rubble. Jonas carried the Mysterium Xarxes up to his bed as silently as he could, not wanting to wake any of the guild members on his way.


	5. Chapter 5

Jonas sat cross-legged on his bed, the Mysterium Xarxes lying closed on the pillow in front of him. He glanced furtively about, feeling slightly guilty about taking it. Of course, there was no rule against him looking at any of the books, but Jonas felt that this was not a book to just take up on a whim. He could almost feel the aura of magic around the dusty tome. Its white cover seemed to catch the light as a diamond would, and it cast pretty rainbows on the wall.

_Ok…_Jonas reached out tentatively. He didn't really know why he felt such an attraction to the book, or why he had such an intense _need_ to read it. All he knew was that he did need to. Jonas flipped back the book's pristine white cover and found, to his horror, creased, yellowing parchment, smeared with blood.

Jonas' eyes zipped over the text: _When I walk the earth again, the faithful among you shall receive your reward - to be set above all other mortals forever. _He continued reading with some morbid fascination as to what the writer was talking about. _As for the rest, the weak shall be winnowed, the timid shall be cast down, and the mighty shall tremble at my feet and pray for pardon, for Lord Dagon forever reborn in blood and fire from the waters of Oblivion. _Then Jonas noticed something strange: _none of the words were written in English!_ Jonas stared at the unfamiliar characters on the page for a moment before shuddering with some strange mix of horror and fascination.

Jonas looked over his shoulder again. _I really shouldn't be reading this book,_ he thought, but he couldn't resist turning over and just glancing at the next page. _Just a peek…_ Jonas stifled a scream as a pair of enormous red eyes glared up at him, but he calmed himself. _It's ok…it's just a picture…it's not real…_He snapped the book shut and closed his eyes. He breathed heavily.

Jonas' heart thudded in his chest. He opened his eyes a crack, and found himself staring at a room that was not quite his. It did look very similar, but there was a reddish haze over everything. A flash of movement caught Jonas' eye. A ghostly red spectre stood by the doorway, its eyes white-hot flames that burned into Jonas' soul. Jonas screamed.

He groped for that silver sword he had stolen, and sliced frantically at the air. The leather the sword was sheathed in flew off as Jonas swung the sword. It passed through the ghostly figure as if it were but smoke. "AAARGH!" Jonas yelled, levelling his sword parallel to the floor and charging. He ran straight out of the open door and into the corridor.

Here, three more ghostly apparitions waited, their lips moving, but no sound issuing forth. "Get back!" Jonas yelled, flinging out his palm. Untamed magicka exploded from his hand like a river bursting its banks. The hallway shuddered, but the four creatures appeared unfazed, the wisps of red smoke about them barely twitching in the gale.

A hand dropped onto Jonas' shoulder and he swung around to cut the menace down. The young scholar, woken by the racket, seemed slightly surprised at the dark stain spreading across his torn robes. He looked up at Jonas confusedly before collapsing backward into his room. _Oh no oh no oh no…_Jonas screamed inside his head. Everything seemed to have so much more clarity now, and the ghost-things had disappeared. The sudden sharpness hurt Jonas' eyes, and his head hurt from so, so many things.

Jonas knew that the noise he had caused had almost definitely woken more than this one man, and sure enough, he was proven right. Soon, the Archmage herself was roused and brought to the scene – Jonas was not stupid enough to try and take on any of the mages that had found him standing over the body.

The Archmage was an old woman named Raven, and she had only just taken over from the recently deceased Archmage Hannibal Traven, he having been killed by the necromancer Mannimarco. Raven had been the one to do away with the evil sorcerer, so it had seemed right to make her the Archmage. Her skin sagged and the corners of her eyes crinkled into crows-feet, but she had the sort of look about her that you could tell she had been beautiful in her youth.

"What _is_ this?" she screeched. She was _not _attractive when she was angry. She pointed a gnarled finger at Jonas, "you evil, wicked child!" she shrieked shrilly. "You have _murdered_ another guildmember! You are hereby stripped of your rank and key!" She took them and then paused as she saw his bloodied sword. She breathed heavily, her face blotchy. "Where did you get that?"

"This? Er…" Jonas had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was almost as if she already knew the answer. Several of the other mages standing watching began to glance between the boy and the woman uneasily. Small sparks of magicka fizzed about Raven's fingers. Suddenly, she put her hands to her head, as if grasped by some terrible headache.

"Throw him out," she muttered.

"But, Archmage-" Tar-Meena tried to interject, but Raven cut across her.

"I don't care, I just want him gone!" she continued rubbing her temples and practically ran from the building. Jonas was grasped by two firm hands on his shoulders and was escorted to the gates by two mages, one of whom was Tar-Meena.

"That was a very stupid thing to do," she hissed. "No, beyond stupid; something a _Dunmer_ would do." She snorted loudly. "More like _Dumb-_ner." Jonas felt hot rage welling inside him. "But there's nothing we can do about it now…meet me at the Tiber Septim hotel on Morndas; I have received word from my contact, Baurus. He will take you to the Blades' headquarters, and will be here by Fridas. After some routine check-ups and errands, he will be able to meet you. Be there at 10 o'clock pm. _Don't be late."_

"Ok," Jonas said through gritted teeth. _Nothing_ could make him go to that meeting now. Not after Tar-Meena's stupid racist comment. There was no way he could see her again, and besides, this wasn't getting him any closer to finding Jauffre. Not that Jonas knew what he would tell him if ever they met. He spotted some guards a little way away. _Oh yeah,_ he thought bitterly, _and I've just killed someone else…_All these deaths were adding up, and Jonas didn't like it. Sure, people died every day, but that didn't make him feel any better about it. That scholar he had killed was quite young. But none were as young as his brother, Alex.

A sudden shout shocked Jonas from his depressing train of thought, but the shout hardly declared good news. "_Daedra!_" The two guards looked up at the startled shout as if they could hardly believe it. The huge oak doors they were standing by suddenly swung open with such force that one of the two guards was flung backward.

"Find the boy!" The Markynaz shouted to the ensemble of evil-looking creatures behind him. "Kill anything that stirs – but for the boy. Bring him to me alive!" His voice hurt Jonas' eardrums. Jonas took a step backward and went around a corner, hiding himself in the shadows. _Why me?_ He silently asked Akatosh and all the Aedra. _Why?_

From his hiding place in the corner, Jonas had a clear view of the ensuing battle. The Imperial Watch were the better swordsmen, but were greatly outnumbered – and no matter how many daedra they killed, the Markynaz always immediately replaced them by waving a strange staff.

Adrenaline coursed through Jonas' veins, but he did not move an inch. His heart raced in his chest, but he still stayed still. _I can't kill anyone else,_ he thought determinedly to himself. He had heard of people who had murdered so much that they were completely desensitised to it.

Jonas screwed his eyes shut, as if that would stop the turmoil unfolding around him. _What in the name of Talos am I going to do?_ He asked himself. A sudden scream made Jonas' eyes snap open. In the light of the moon, Jonas could just make out the shape of a woman huddled over the body of a dead soldier and weeping.

Everything that followed seemed to happen in slow motion to Jonas. A blue-skinned xivilai stood towering over the woman, his ebony claymore cutting through the air toward her neck. Before he knew it, Jonas was on his feet, his hands already going through the motions of the one real spell he knew.

The xivilai staggered backward as the ball of flames collided with his chin. Then every single head turned toward Jonas. _Protect me…_Jonas hefted up his silver sword and tried to look menacing (not an easy feat, considering the daedra all either towered over him, wore heavy armour, or both, and Jonas was equipped only with a sword and a blue velvet outfit.

"Die, scum!" Jonas shouted, hoping it sounded more impressive than he thought it did. He charged at a large crocodile-like creature and stabbed it through the heart. Blood spurted onto his expensive outfit, but Jonas did not care. Pulling his sword from the corpse of the croc-thing, Jonas turned and blasted a scamp back to Oblivion (literally) with a well-placed fireball. Without even pausing for breath, Jonas turned and swung his sword at the slightly scorched neck of the xivilai.

Gasping for breath, Jonas saw the Markynaz smile and wave the stick-staff he held. Six more daedra materialised in front of him. Jonas didn't know exactly what happened next – all he knew was that something inside him had snapped. Fire coursed through Jonas' veins, lighting every corner of his body with pure energy. Jonas ran, jumped, spun, slashed, stabbed, ducked, parried, lunged, dodged, leapt, sliced and hacked, and found himself beside the Markynaz, a multitude of corpses littering the courtyard behind him. Without a second's hesitation, Jonas chopped the weird stick thing in half. He saw that the end was, in fact, a kind of flower, which wilted even as Jonas watched.

The Markynaz seemed surprised for a second, and then, almost too quickly to see, his sword came out of its sheath. He lunged at Jonas, who blocked and then tried for a counter-slash from the side. Almost as if he could hear Jonas' thoughts, the dremora lord twisted and defended his ribs, simultaneously performing a complicated manoeuvre with his sword, which pulled Jonas' weapon out of his hands.

"_Don't play with fire, boy,_" the Markynaz gloated, "_you'll just get burned._" He made to stab Jonas through the ribs, but at the last second, an arrow came out of nowhere, embedding itself into the lord's hand, and making him drop his weapon.

The woman that had wept over the soldier's body was standing, poised to fire an arrow into the Markynaz, heart. The wicked dremora lord took a step back, perhaps trying to work out its chances. Its entire army was decimated; more soldiers could be along at any minute; and the means by which he could create a new army was destroyed. It took a step back, and the woman fired an arrow at its chest as if to say, "move or die." In that brief second while the woman tried to get another arrow and fit it into the bow, the Markynaz let loose a bolt of lightning, killing her instantly.

The Markynaz stepped backward and faded away into the shadows as footsteps could be heard coming around the corner, and many disgusted noises were made by the soldiers finding their comrades' corpses intermingled with the already rotting flesh of the daedra.

Jonas collapsed into a heap under the shadow of a nearby house, silent tears rolling down his face. _I've killed even _more_ now, and I didn't even manage to save that woman. Perhaps If I were dead, this stuff wouldn't happen…and I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore at least._

"_Hey!"_ Someone whispered nearby, breaking Jonas out of his suicidal mode of thinking. He looked around, but couldn't see anyone close enough to have said it. Most of the soldiers were spreading out and away from the area to search for any survivors of the fray. _"Hey," _the voice called again. _"Look up!"_ Jonas turned and spotted a boy sitting on the windowsill a little way above him. He was a Breton, Jonas guessed, though he couldn't really tell in the dim silvery light of the moon, which was beginning to wane.

"_What?"_ Jonas whispered back irritably. He didn't appreciate people interrupting his contemplation of suicide

"_I saw you fighting that guy,"_ the boy said. _"It was pretty cool."_

Jonas grunted in response. _"You saw the whole thing then?"_

"_Every second,"_ the boy grinned, showing off his pearly whites.

"_That's not a very nice attitude,"_ Jonas whispered after no one had said anything for a while. "_People _died_ you know." _ The boy didn't answer, and Jonas was privately thankful for that – he was exhausted. He barely heard the window creak shut as he drifted off to sleep.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

There was a soft thump close by, but Jonas didn't open his eyes. It had been a nice dream – a rare occurrence these days. There was another thump. Jonas frowned. _What is that?_ He opened his eyes and saw that there were four or five apples littering the cobbles where he was sitting. He looked up, and got a face-full of apple.

"Hey, Mr I-Fought-a-Daedra!" Jonas peeked through the fingers that protected his face from any more apples that might fall and saw the boy he'd been chatting to the previous night. Now Jonas was almost sure the boy was a Breton; it was the chocolate curls that gave him away, really, more so than the boy's face, which showed his elfish heritage only if you were looking for it.

"Just thought I should let you know my father's about to go out to work, and he won't be pleased if he finds some blood-soaked beggar lying across his doorway."

"First of all," Jonas said angrily, his thoughts of the peaceful dream shattered and replaced with irritability, "my name's Jonas, and I would appreciate it if you didn't spread the fact that I have been going around killing things, and secondly, I am NOT a beggar!" Jonas felt his face burn with annoyance as the boy merely shrugged.

"Ok." The boy disappeared from the window.

Jonas stood, swaying slightly. He had a really bad migraine. He looked down at his blood-soaked clothes and realised that he would have to find some new ones if he wanted to remain inconspicuous. Or he could just kill himself.

_No,_ Jonas thought, _it's not that bad, I can get through this without killing myself. _He sighed. So often it was that no matter how bad something was, after a bout of crying it always seemed just a little bit better – even if nothing had actually changed about the situation.

Jonas was about to call up to the boy in the room above him when he heard a lock click. Jonas quickly ducked around the side of the house to avoid being seen, and then peeked around the corner to see a young man with closely cropped hair step outside the house and lock the door before walking away. Jonas guessed that this was the boy's father, though he couldn't really tell that the man was a Breton – he looked more Imperial (although, of course, Jonas could have been completely wrong in assuming that they were a Breton at all).

"Hey!" Jonas called up to the window. "Mr I-Spy-On-Daedra!" Jonas smiled despite himself. The boy's head popped up at the window with a knowing grin – as if he knew that Jonas would come back.

"I knew you'd come back."

"Have you got any spare clothes, er…?"

"Yes – and call me Chris."

Chris threw down some clothes that weren't particularly old or shoddy, but they were considerably less expensive than what Jonas was used to. Nevertheless, he muttered his thanks and went off behind a row of houses to get changed, receiving odd looks from some of the guards as they spotted the bloodied stains on his old clothes.

A few minutes later, when Jonas returned to give his thanks properly, Jonas found that the house was empty – _well, either that, or Chris is ignoring me for some reason. Funny – he wouldn't shut up last night._

Ok, where to now? I still have no idea who or where Jauffre is, I am still trapped over 100 years in the future, and I still have no money. Oh, and that Markynaz is still after me. All in a day's work, eh?

And on that thought, Jonas turned and wandered down the street in the general direction of the Talos Plaza district. _One thing's for sure – I've got to get away from this city to somewhere I won't be hunted by daedra. _


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you SO much for your near infinite patience – if I was you I probably would have hunted me down and forced me to update – I mean, its bad enough that all my chapters are way too short without putting weeks between updates, right?**

Jonas almost had to gouge the layer of muck and sweat off his forehead it was so thick. He'd been wandering the wilderness for weeks, searching for another city, and with each passing day he deeply regretted leaving the Imperial city.

He sighed and collapsed under an old oak tree, massaging his blistered feet and preparing to get some sleep. Back when he lived with his foster parents, he never would have had to sleep like this. Memories of his warm bed by the fire floated back to Jonas, and he thought of the warm milk his mother would give him to send him off to sleep.

Jonas' stomach grumbled as his thoughts turned to food. Roast beef…chicken breast…potatoes; boiled, mashed and roasted…he could almost taste the near-regal quality food he'd had at least twice a week. He smiled to himself. _I _am_ regal…_

Jonas' nose taunted him with false scents of delicious foodstuffs – the most Jonas had had to eat over the past few weeks was a meagre assortment of vegetables he'd happened across a couple of times, and he'd always had to take as much as he could carry, for fear of starvation.

The smell wafted over yet again, and Jonas' eyes snapped open. He sniffed the air twice. He was sure he wasn't imagining it now. Jonas peeked behind the oak he sat under, and saw the faint orange glimmer of a fire a little way away behind some trees. Letting the fire's light guide him in the near pitch-black forest, Jonas crept slowly forward.

"…Be crowned emperor." A pair of dunmeri men sat around a fire, along with a female orc, and a hooded figure with his back to Jonas. The orc had just finished saying something that obviously held some great weight in regard to whatever they were discussing, for one of the dark elves had dropped the chicken wing he had been trying to eat both quickly and quietly.

"But, but…then maybe killing Ocato was not the best of ideas," he looked accusingly at the hooded figure.

_Assassins!_ Jonas thought with a yelp. He dared not move a muscle – who knew what they would do if they discovered him sneaking around their secret meeting.

"Maybe it can be," the second dunmer said pensively. "If we can elect someone over whom we have complete control, this threat can be eliminated quickly."

"But then there is still the problem of the election – who could we possibly get to oppose him?" The first dunmer said quickly.

"Peace, Dreth." The hooded figure spoke up at last. "If I was as nervous as you, I would never have gotten into this business. "Are you having second thoughts about your cousin, too?" Jonas thought his smooth silky voice somewhat familiar, but he couldn't place where he'd heard it before. Dreth shook his head. "Good, because Valen is already dead."

Jonas started as he realised who this was; it was the assassin that had helped him escape from the imperial prison. "As for a suitable candidate, the Count of Bravil is an old acquaintance of mine. I have already spoken to him about…him."

"But then," the female orc said, "why have you brought us here if you already know all this?" There was an edge of fear to her voice now.

"Peace, peace. I didn't come here to kill you all, but to warn you; there are strange things afoot, and I think that old weapons should be _replaced_." He said that last statement with meaning, though the rest of the company seemed just as bewildered as Jonas. The assassin stood, and the fire extinguished itself, blanketing the area in darkness.

Jonas pressed himself to the ground, hardly daring to breathe until the first rays of sunlight penetrated the upper canopy of the forest.

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Jonas awoke, his entire body aching. His face was nestled in the sweet-smelling grass, and he might have stayed there but for his fear and painful joints. He heaved himself up and picked a random direction to start walking off in. It wasn't the best strategy, he knew, but he figured he'd get somewhere eventually.

After a few minutes of wandering through the dense trees, Jonas stumbled onto a path. Looking along it, Jonas could see the walls of a city some short distance away. All thoughts of pain and fatigue forgotten, Jonas broke into a shambling run – anything to get to the city as quickly as possible.

Jonas was so pleased at having reached civilisation, he simply hurtled through the city gates, paying the guards' strange looks no heed, and collapsed onto the cobbles of the street within, resting his head against the wall separating the city from the outside world. He was so content in fact; he just sat like that for maybe five, ten, fifteen minutes without a care in his head. But then his brain kick-started into worry-mode as it did so often these days.

The assassins' conversation drifted slowly back to him, and he felt more uneasy the more he thought about it. _What were they taking about…Ocato? Chancellor Ocato? That was the high elf I was accused of killing…and the Count of Bravil is going to replace him…?_ Jonas felt very uneasy at the thought of a group of assassins running all of Cyrodiil, using the Count as a puppet. _And that man had seemed quite friendly when he released me from prison…_Jonas reflected that the man _had _murdered someone about ten seconds before freeing him, so maybe he'd been misguided on that count. _Why _did_ he help me, anyway…?_

Jonas cautiously opened one eye and sneaked a quick glance at the guards' coat of arms on their shields. Yes, this was the city of Bravil – he recognised the emblem at once.

Now Jonas' thoughts moved onto the matter at hand: What now? He was safe from the dremora lord, for the moment at least, but the elusive Jauffre was still a mystery. Now that he thought about it, maybe he should have met up with Baurus – at least then it would feel as though he was getting somewhere.

As he watched, Jonas noticed that the number of people wandering around on the street was beginning to increase. They seemed be congregating near the chapel, so Jonas eased himself up to his feet and wandered over to investigate. He immediately wished he hadn't. Lying in front of the chapel doors was a young woman, whose protruding abdomen proclaimed her pregnancy to the world, and whose blood stained the steps where she lay.

On first glance, Jonas thought someone had carved a large letter 'O' onto her front, but then he realised it was one of those weird symbols he's read in the Mysterium Xarxes. The woman's glazed-over eyes stared up at Jonas, beseeching him to do something. Jonas shuddered. He made his way back through the crowd, feeling sick at the thought that they were all just milling around, gossiping, and none of them had thought to remove the body. As he pushed past, he just managed to catch some snippets of conversations, but really he wasn't interested. It was a mistake to come here, he realised, but he really didn't know what to do.

"…Yes, Lizzie's daughter…"

"…The priest, I think…"

"…Well, if it was the…"

"…Someone called Junoshin…"

"…Yes, that's what I heard – the mages guild…"

"…Yes, up at the castle…Jauffre…"

"…No, surely not…"

Jonas froze. His head snapped around, but he couldn't tell who had said that vital thing about the elusive Jauffre. He gave his silent thanks to the aedra and said a short prayer for the woman's soul before pushing through the crowd with renewed vigour.

"Excuse me," Jonas put on his best 'puppy-dog' look as he spoke to the soldier. "Please could you tell me where the castle is?"

"Why, are you alright? Are you looking for your mother or something?" The soldier seemed genuinely concerned. Jonas wondered why the man had let him see the dead woman if he was really that worried about him.

"Y-yes…" Jonas fake-sobbed. "She said she would be at the castle, b-but I can't find her!"

"There, there," the guard patted Jonas' shoulder heavily and pointed him in the right direction.

"Thank you," Jonas sniffled.

"That's quite alright," the redguard smiled, evidently pleased at having done his good deed for the day. Jonas shook his head incredulously as he walked away in the direction of the castle, and hopefully Jauffre.

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The castle was surprisingly well furnished, considering the fact that the rest of the town was blatantly shabby and run-down. "Hello, can I help you?" The soft voice of a dunmer caught Jonas off-guard as he made his way toward the main room of the castle. Jonas turned and started with surprise. It was one of the assassins from the meeting the previous night, and Jonas identified him as the one named Dreth.

"I-I, er, ah…" Jonas stuttered, at a loss as to what to say. _Can I trust him enough to tell him I am looking for Jauffre? No, I don't think I can._

"Are you here in response to the flyer that went out?" Dreth looked Jonas up and down suspiciously.

"Yes!" Jonas said at once, latching onto the excuse.

"Ah, good!" the dunmer said, his expression easing slightly. "You know we've had lots of beggars coming in recently, just wasting the Count's time – can you believe that?"

Jonas nodded, but privately wondered how Dreth could have known that, having only arrived there sometime that morning.

"Well, come on then!" Dreth said briskly, "Count Terentius is waiting."

Jonas hesitated. What had he gotten himself into? He couldn't really back out now, after having said he was here for this…this thing, whatever it was. Then again, he did wonder what their reaction would be if he went along and revealed himself after this big event.

_Come on, what's the worst that could happen?_ Jonas asked himself. _Famous last words…_a small voice at the back of his head muttered. He ignored it and nodded. "Lead on," he said.

Dreth, looking slightly amused at the authoritative posture and voice the boy used, smiled and pushed the door behind him open.

"Aren't you coming in?" Jonas asked nervously.

"Oh, no; I wouldn't want to interfere in the Count's _special business_." Dreth smiled nastily, and Jonas wondered what he could be talking about. He shook his head and strode confidently into the room.

The sound of many ticking clocks greeted Jonas as he stepped into the small office. There were so many timepieces hanging on the wall it was hard to hear oneself think, or indeed see the walls. As Jonas entered the room, the Count stood up at once and barely restrained himself from running across to shake the boy's hand.

"Welcome, welcome," he said. "I am Count Regulus Terentius, and the current owner of this castle." He smiled as if he had been under enormous stress for the past few months and this was his moment of salvation. "So, do you think you're _qualified_ to work as my servant, boy?" he smiled as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

_So that's all it is!_ Jonas thought with relief. _I was expecting something far more sinister._ "Yes, sir!"

"And manners, too!" Terentius exclaimed, as if hardly believing his luck. "Well I'm really happy we could come to this arrangement, er…"

"I'm Jonas, sir."

"Jonas," the Count repeated. "Well, you're duties include helping the cooks, the cleaners, and generally doing what I tell you," he paused for breath. "I'll pay you with food and board, and maybe an extra gold piece every week, alright."

"Yes, sir!" _But I don't know if I'll still be here in a week,_ Jonas thought. _If Jauffre's here, he can help me, and if he's not, I can afford to wait._

"Good." He sighed with relief. "Now repeat after me: 'I will to my Lord be true and faithful, and love all which he loves, and shun all which he shuns.'"

Jonas repeated him word for word, and Terentius said, "ok, go and find Master Thred – he's in charge of the servants and will give you most of your orders." He paused before adding, "he's the dunmer who brought you here." Jonas nodded his thanks and left the room, wondering what his first 'order' would be.

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Count Regulus Terentius sighed as he collapsed back into his chair. He almost felt sorry for the young boy he had just put into service, but then…he shuddered as he glanced about the room he hated so much. _Better him than me._

**A/N: Once again, sorry for the really long wait. I'll try really hard to update quickly next time - also, MorganEddasil, I haven't forgotten your request, but my access to the actual game is becoming more and more limited, so I don't know when I'll be able to do anything...sorry.**


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